


Puppeteer

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-31
Updated: 1998-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: While Mulder and Skinner's relationship is being tested, Patterson seeks to make his fantasies a reality with Mulder. Warning: BDSM, m/m rape. Spoilers for *Grotesque*.





	Puppeteer

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Puppeteer by Griffin Grimes

02 Jan 1998  
Puppeteer  
by Griffin Grimes <>  
Classification: TA, Slash (M/Sk)  
Rating: NC-17  
Spoilers: Grotesque, Redux  
Keywords: M/Sk slash, BDSM, m/m rape  
Completed 1/1/98.  
Rating: a very firm, no-nonsense NC-17 for explicit sexual content and disturbing themes.   
*** Warnings: This is a serious, detailed and intense look at various adult or disturbing themes, including homosexuality, consensual/nonconsensual bondage, torture, and rape. If you are underage or if you find such themes offensive, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS! Also, some activities described in this story may be illegal where you live, and have the potential to be extremely dangerous. By writing a fictional story involving these acts, I am not suggesting you should try any of these acts yourself, nor am I claiming that the safety procedures I describe for such activities are foolproof or even the best precautions possible.****  
Distribution: MSSS/MKRA, MulderTorture, Gossamer, and ATXC: yes, and thanks! Any other public uses with my permission only.  
Disclaimers: The characters of Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Bill Patterson, and Dana Scully are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen, and Fox Broadcasting. No gain will be made from this story, and no copyright infringement is intended. The Home Shopping Network also does not claim to endorse any activities describe herein. No defamation to that fine service or to Fox or its employees is meant.   
Summary: While Mulder and Skinner's relationship is being tested, Patterson seeks to make his fantasies a reality with Mulder.  
This is a sequel to my recent vignette, "Marionette". You don't have to read that to understand this. It is advisable, though! This story has turned out many times more intense than that one, and frankly, I'm surprised that such things could come out of my once-innocent mind. It also is in the same universe as my first slash story, "Healed with a Kiss", which explains how Mulder and Skinner began their relationship. Although it is set in the current timeline of the show (January 1998), I do not propose that this story could actually be happening right now. I mean, duh! I think we'd notice if Mulder and Skinner were bopping like bunnies together every weekend, all weekend. I think they'd both be in much better moods, for one.  
Thanks to the XSlash folks for corrupting and enlightening me, especially my fellow RoTC members. Thanks again to all who sent me such encouraging feedback on "Marionette"; this story is dedicated to them. Endless appreciation and love go to my special pals, foxboy and zeph, for their enthusiastic and expert Betaing, research assistance, frequently heavy panting e-mails and on-line chat, and overall support. Since I made further adjustments to this story after the last time they looked at it, any mistakes or weaknesses that remain are my own.  
The act of writing has its own rewards, but knowing your writing has made an impact -- or getting advice on how to improve -- is the lifeblood of a fanfic writer. At least, this one. Please send any and all comments to <>, and I will send a grateful reply.

* * *

Puppeteer  
by Griffin Grimes <>

Excerpt from a report submitted by Walter S. Skinner, Assistant Director of  
the Federal Bureau of Investigations:

"William Patterson, the perpetrator of these crimes, escaped from St.  
Elizabeth Hospital's psychiatric ward sometime between 6:28 and 6:37 p.m.  
on Jan. 16, 1998, apparently having premeditatedly fashioned a weapon  
that he used to cut the throat of a psychiatric technician accompanying him to  
the showers. The technician, 24-year-old Michael Tremano, died within  
five minutes of his assault (see attached Medical Examiner's report).

"Immediately upon discovery of Tremano's body, a complete lockdown was  
ordered and a search of the premises begun. Patterson left the grounds  
through unknown means, evidently for the purpose of kidnapping, sexually  
assaulting and murdering Special Agent Fox Mulder, whom Patterson had  
fixated on during, and possibly before, Patterson's incarceration (reference  
attached psychiatric evaluation reports).

                     *************

Arlington, VA  
Friday, Jan. 16, 1998  
9:52 p.m.

Mike Delaney was surprised to see his old friend from the ISU show up on his doorstep. Especially since, last thing he had heard, Patterson had been committed to St. Elizabeth's psych ward.

They had known each other since the Academy. They had even remained best friends throughout those years, as their careers paralleled each other. Actually, Delaney had tended to follow just one rung behind Patterson most of the way up the ladder. Delaney now held Patterson's old job, leading the ISU as diligently as Patterson had.

When the surprising news came of the followup to the Mostow case, Delaney had never believed that Patterson had committed the crimes he was charged with. Patterson had been under a lot of stress at the time, Mike knew, but he could never perform such atrocities. Like Mike, Patterson had always kept law and order and decency as his standards. When Delaney took over Patterson's position at the ISU, he determined to run it just like his friend had for all those years.

Patterson was wearing an ankle-length, loose-fitting overcoat, buttoned from top to bottom. He still looked cold, and he was obviously tired. Exhausted, even.

Delaney figured the psychiatric profession must have seen some sense and released Patterson quickly. Maybe some nut case confessed to the crimes, and Delaney hadn't yet been informed. Some incompetent asshole slipped up, Mike thought, annoyed. Well, he'd deal with that later. He just hoped it hadn't been one of his people who had screwed up.

"Bill, you've been released. What great news!"

"Yes," Patterson replied. "It's good to be out. If you don't mind, I'll tell you all about it inside. It's cold out here, and none of my old clothes fit me anymore. I hoped you could loan me something." Patterson gave an embarrassed smile and patted his thickened waistline. "This was all they could give me."

Patterson's smile actually was brought on with the memory of his greatest fortune -- finding this overcoat draped over an unattended chair at one of the nurses' stations on his way out. Patterson tried to look even colder than he was, hoping his friendship still meant something with Mike.

It did. "Of course," Mike replied, a little curious about the whole situation, but trusting his old buddy. He moved to one side to let Patterson pass. "Come on in, Bill, and I'll find you something that will fit. Let's get you warmed up!" 

Patterson grinned widely as he stepped over the threshold.

                     *************

Excerpt from A.D. Skinner's report:

"Patterson, who had served honorably for several years as head of the Investigative Support Unit at Quantico until his arrest on Jan. 17, 1996, recruited Agent Mulder into the FBI in 1988. According to his psychiatrist, Dr. Christina Bower, Patterson's hostility towards Mulder stemmed from Patterson's paranoid interpretation that Mulder had betrayed him by leaving the ISU and, later, by arresting Patterson for murders Patterson continually denied committing." 

                     ************

Mulder's apartment  
Alexandria, VA  
Friday, Jan. 16  
10:03 p.m.

Mulder was already completely naked when he sat down on the side of the bed, fresh and still damp-haired from the thorough shower and cleansing enema he had just been given, watching with anticipation as his lover approached.

One dim bedside lamp illuminated the spartan bedroom a place seldom used for more than storage space until two months earlier, when Walter first agreed to start coming here on alternate weekends.

Walter's shirtless body looked even more wonderful in the soft light. Not that the sight of him didn't still stop Mulder's breath under any illumination, but something about the interplay of shadows and warmth across his chest made Walter especially handsome. Mulder absently drew his tongue across his lower lip as Walter came to stand bare inches in front of him.

"Have I ever told you how..." Mulder began. He was silenced by a raised palm: Walter's signal to stop.

"I don't want to talk tonight, Mulder," he explained. "I've had enough talk this week. All I want to do right now is make love to you."

Walter had never acted quite like this with him before, Mulder thought; he must have had a particularly bad week. Since the discovery of Section Chief Blevins' covert dealings, there were rumors that the private lives of higher ups in the FBI were being secretly investigated, to protect against further potential scandal. Mulder had sensed that Skinner was more concerned than usual that their own relationship might be uncovered.

Mulder was happy to oblige in helping Walter leave the troubles of the office behind him. He silently nodded his response, reaching out to undo Walter's pants and then slide them and his white cotton Jockeys down. Mulder looked up at the man standing in front of him through the entire process, not wanting to take his eyes from Skinner's face.

Walter was grateful that Mulder wasn't going to put up an argument, or begin interrogating him about why he didn't feel like their usual playful banter. Over the last year and a half together, they had learned a lot about how to read each other's moods. Showing his unspoken appreciation, the older man leaned down and nuzzled at Mulder's ear, stroking the opposite cheek lightly with his other hand.

Mulder had never voiced the fact that this was his favorite part of their regular foreplay. Simply having his ear and neck lovingly kissed and nibbled by Walter's attentive mouth, the other man's warm breath caressing his sensitized skin, invariably made Mulder erect in moments. Perhaps that was why Skinner always included this activity in the initial stages of all their lovemaking, Mulder considered. He would never complain about this small bit of predictability with Walter. Sometimes predictability could be quite nice.

Mulder's body didn't vary in its response to it, either, and he was well on his the way to a respectable hard-on by the time Walter had joined him on the bed.

Walter sat beside Mulder, facing him as he gave his undivided attention to the younger man's left shoulder. Soon, Walter was at the nape of Mulder's neck. Then, trailing his tongue and lips down his front, Walter's strong arms simultaneously reached out to stroke Mulder's chest. To play with his lover's tender, pebbled nipples. Enjoying the feel of the light covering of fuzz he found between them, Walter found even more satisfaction listening to the moans he elicited from the man in front of him. Moving even closer, he went in to lick his way from the soft hair over Mulder's sternum to the coarser patch at his groin. Mulder leaned backward, breathing shallowly, as both men's erections grew stronger.

Taking Skinner's hand in his, Mulder pulled up and hungrily tongued his lover's mouth. Breaking away, he still clasped the precious hand to his chest as he laid back on the bed, scooting up to rest his shoulder blades against the slatted wooden headboard.

Grabbing a condom and tube of lube from atop the bedside dresser, Walter moved on the bed to kneel between Mulder's legs and continue his attentions, now centered on the firm member there and the tightening, tender sac beneath. Lapping the pre-cum from Mulder's thickened shaft, Skinner moved on to lathe and suck each ball in turn.

They had done this enough to have no need for any communication or break in activities during the needed preparations. Gasping as Skinner found some of his more sensitive spots, Mulder managed to deftly get the packet open. Pulling Skinner forward to kiss his lips and all the way down to his groin, Mulder then milked Skinner's engorged penis with his mouth before rolling the condom in place.

Sitting back on his haunches, kissing the sensitive skin on Mulder's inner thighs, Skinner squeezed out a dollop of lube and applied it between Mulder's ass cheeks, shifting Mulder down a little to spread him further. Large fingers gently teased at the opening, then slid deep within, past the second knuckle, to find soft warmth inside.

Mulder's respiration increased as he tried to impale himself further on Walter's hand. Sweaty hands reached out to tightly grasp the bedcovers at his sides. He was all sensation now, reveling in what his lover did to him. Eyes softly glazed and pupils dilated, he gazed up at his lover, reaching out and taking hold of Skinner's shoulders in an effort to bring the object of his need closer still.

Feeling the same desire to become fully enjoined with his lover, Skinner took his hand from where it had nestled between Mulder's cheeks and lifted the lean, strong legs over his shoulders, raising the other man's tight hips off the bed so he could slip a pillow under them. He looked down at the contorted face as he resumed with his gentle yet insistent massage of the gland inside Mulder, who had closed his eyes in ecstacy once again.

Skinner loved watching the pleasure he created in the face below him. No longer able or wanting to resist, Skinner withdrew his hand and positioned the head of his penis at Mulder's entrance, then slowly but firmly pushed his way in. An inch, then another three, and with one last, hard thrust, all the way within.

Mulder gasped at each step of Skinner's welcomed intrusion, finally opening his eyes in an expression of surprise when Skinner had filled him completely. Mulder thought he'd be happy to stay like that forever, simply overwhelmed with the comforting feeling of completion in his lover's arms.

They remained locked together like that for a timeless moment, each brazenly drinking in the visage of the other. With no words needed between them, they both grasped the other tightly, each hand clinging to the opposite arm, just above the elbow, as if bracing themselves for what was to come.

Or, possibly, as an unspoken plea for the other to stay just where they were.

                     *************

12:36 a.m.  
Saturday, Jan. 17  
Arlington

He knew he was wasting precious time, but he had to find something decent to listen to on the road. He'd been locked up a long time, and this was the first chance he had to play good music as loud as he wanted without getting relentlessly booed and hissed at by the other inmates. And then to have it turned off by one of the bossy guards who claimed it was "disruptive to the therapeutic environment."

Looking through the collection of CDs Mike kept beside the expensive system in his living room, Patterson wondered how he could ever have had a friend with such an odd taste in music. He flipped past one case after another: Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler", Vivaldi's "The Four Seasons", The Beatles' white album.

He looked over at Mike's still form slumped in the armchair next to him. "What is it with you, Mike? Multiple personality?" Mike apparently was embarrassed about the lack of conviction in his musical preferences; he said nothing. Patterson flipped past a few more. "Pearl Jam...Mike! I've heard of mid-life crises, but really!" No doubt ol' Mike had been throwing pajama parties with a few of those girls he was always so fond of. The Stones, Queen... "I'll bet Mulder listens to this crap," he said with a sour smile, glancing over at his friend again.

The red gash across Mike's throat and his glassy-eyed look of surprise suggested he had no idea what kind of music Mulder listened to, but that the agent he'd heard so much about would be welcome to stop by and look through his collection, even take some home with him. After all, Mike wouldn't be needing them anymore.

Oh, well, maybe better luck with the cassettes, Patterson hoped. He never had got the hang of CDs, anyhow. Sliding open the drawer that held them, his eyes quickly found one that was more than satisfactory. Patterson grabbed it, closed the drawer, and flashed the case cover at Mike. "Mind if I borrow this, pal?" he asked Mike. Mike apparently didn't mind. Guess you can always listen to some Pearl Jam while I'm gone, Patterson thought as he stood up and headed for the garage.

                     *************

1:23 a.m.  
Alexandria

Mulder had only drifted off to sleep for a couple of hours, then awoke to lay thinking private thoughts about the case he was on, about how his and Walter's relationship had changed over the past few months, about how his life had changed so much recently. He kept still so as not to disturb Walter. Then he heard the sheets softly rustle behind him, evidence that Skinner had just awakened.

Skinner could tell Mulder was awake, too, and reached out to wrap his left arm over him, trying to gently coax their bodies closer together.

Taking Skinner's arm off him, Mulder shifted around to lie on his other shoulder and face Walter, just looking at him quietly. He was hesitant about saying what he truly wanted to say at the moment. After all, Skinner had said "no words", in no uncertain terms. <But that was then, and this is now>, Mulder thought, grinning in fond memory of their earlier activities. However much fun that had been, they had both had a real workout, and he doubted Skinner was in the mood for some very- early-morning play. Walter, he had discovered, was not a very-early-morning person.

Delaying what he was going to say, Mulder leaned over to kiss Skinner's closed eyelids. When Mulder found a half dozen other places to kiss and struck out in quest of a few more under the covers, Skinner teasingly growled back -- a short, low, guttural sound, like a bear coming out of hibernation, possibly a bit too early. Possibly a bit grouchy, too. <Well, maybe getting him a little pissed off will serve me well in this case>, he jokingly considered to himself. Still, Mulder couldn't help but let some of his nervousness, even shyness, show through in his voice.

Mulder poked his head out from beneath the bedclothes and looked down at Skinner's face. Sensing Mulder was staring at him, Skinner opened his eyes and returned the gaze. Mulder opened his mouth.

"Walter, I want you to..." was as far as he got before Skinner gently covered his lover's lips with one palm.

"Shh, Mulder. Go back to sleep." Skinner closed his eyes again, taking his hand away from Mulder's mouth and resting it on Mulder's hip, wanting only to snuggle a little and get a few more hours of sleep.

Mulder wasn't going to give in. "Walter," he said, more insistently.

Skinner couldn't help but be annoyed at his lover's perseverance. He often wondered how Mulder could survive on such little sleep. Skinner was an eight-hours-a-night kind of guy. He kept his voice low, but firm. "Fox, please, I said I didn't want to talk tonight. Not tonight."

Mulder grinned again and nodded toward the bedside electric clock. "It's not tonight anymore, Walt. It's morning."

Skinner was wide awake now. He wasn't happy about it. "Okay. What is it?" he asked, resigned to defer the shut-eye he needed.

Mulder paused, looking at him more seriously. "Fuck me again, Walt. And I want you to...be rough this time."

Skinner had not been expecting this. It wasn't often that Mulder asked for one of their "games" -- Mulder's word for it, and now his. But when he did ask, the sessions were intense, taking several hours to complete.

Mulder had introduced him to this special play once they had gotten over the newness of their relationship. Skinner had eventually taken to it, had actually found them quite fun after the first few awkward times, but it was not his preferred form of lovemaking. It was becoming obvious that it was Mulder's, though.

Skinner knew that Mulder would not let him sleep. Skinner's "Dom" to Mulder's "sub" were roles they only took on during the games; a true, lifestyle Dom would be the one to order the activity, and his sub's wishes would be secondary. Skinner was not so initiated into the role of "top" that he'd deny Mulder what he truly wanted just because, at the moment at least, Skinner would rather sleep. Anyhow, he recalled with a slight smile, Mulder's games had a way of perking him up every time, no matter how late it was.

                     *************

From Skinner's report:

"Patterson also indirectly suggested in several sessions with Dr. Bower that he had felt a strong sexual attraction to Mulder since the first day they had worked together. It is not determinable at this time if Agent Mulder had been aware of Patterson's attraction to him, or if those feelings were ever reciprocated. It is my belief, having been Mulder's direct supervisor for five years, that Patterson mistook Mulder's respect for him for mutual attraction."

                     *************

The games had done little for Walter at first. He even had been quite concerned that he might accidentally hurt Mulder, or that something would go wrong. Eventually, Skinner had learned to appreciate the exotic and creative nature of the games. Things he didn't get to express in his everyday life. And, most of all, he loved to see the incomparably intense pleasure Mulder took in them; to be the one to evoke such feelings in the man he loved. And again, Skinner had come to enjoy their occasional games, once they were underway.

But, for Mulder, they were a special release. Something he needed now and again, for whatever reason. Mulder didn't know why, and he didn't wish to think too much about possible reasons. As a psychologist, he did know that many men in his type of work, with his degree of success, intelligent, with similar personalities and temperaments, and with many of the same significant features in their backgrounds as he had, also were compelled to this type of sex play. Mulder was satisfied to leave it at that.

Although not a psychologist, Skinner, too, knew that Mulder fit the basic profile. Maybe *he* did, as well, Skinner reflected, which might explain why he was finding a latent appreciation for their games. Or maybe it was simply because he loved Mulder so much, he wanted to enjoy the same things as much as possible, and to make Mulder as happy as he could.

                     *************

1:34 a.m.  
Southbound Interstate 95  
Northeastern Virginia

Patterson tapped his fingers on the wheel as he led the BMW closer to Quantico. The rousing swing beat of Glenn Miller filled the car. Nothing like it, Patterson thought, smiling. There will never be anything as good as Miller; this rap junk the kids listen to is nothing but noise.

Patterson remembered Miller's band from when he was a young boy, and it remained his favorite kind of music. He had forgotten how much he liked the swingmaster until he had stuck the tape of Greatest Hits into the car stereo. He had played the best song of the collection, "In the Mood", repeatedly since it first played. He had it playing now.

A squealing, grinding sound suddenly replaced the blaring brass harmonies, and Patterson was momentarily confused. Then he realized what had happened. "Shit", he said under his breath, ready to rip the stereo out of the dashboard for eating the cassette. Ejecting didn't help; the thin band of shiny brown tape was tangled hopelessly in the teeth of the player. 

Patterson reluctantly admitted defeat. Letting the destroyed tape hang pathetically out of the stereo, he turned on the radio, scanning quickly past the squawks and screeches of contemporary rock stations to find his old favorite FM number. He was relieved to find it hadn't changed hands since he had been away. A familiar tune was ending.

"That was Tommy Dorsey with 'I'm Getting Sentimental Over You' -- and aren't we all feeling sentimental right about now? -- here on D.C.'s only home for big band sound, W-O-L-D." Patterson scowled at the call letters of the station; he never did like the less-than-subtle reminder that, as one of their few annoyingly young DJs used to say when making the identification, "If you're listening to us, you're *waay old!*" That DJ hadn't lasted long at the station.

"Next up, one of my favorites," the mellow-voiced DJ teased, "Glen Miller's 'In the Mood.'"

Patterson smiled and turned up the volume. 

*************

Mulder's apartment  
Jan. 17 (same night)  
1:32 a.m.

Skinner sighed to himself -- low enough, he hoped, so Mulder couldn't hear --and got out of bed. He walked slowly around the foot of the bed so as not to bump into anything in the early-morning darkness; then more confidently across the open stretch of carpet to the closet, sliding open the left side and pulling the chain to turn on the bare overhead bulb. He reached into one corner and dragged out a large, army green canvas duffel bag that.

This was where they kept Mulder's "toys". Another word that Skinner had come to adopt as his own, lacking a better descriptor. Still not saying anything since assenting to Mulder's request, Skinner brought the bag closer to the bed, shoving it against the dresser, and unzipped the opening.

Mulder had sat up in the middle of the mattress while Skinner had gone for their equipment; now he had his legs crossed "Indian-style", hands resting where his shins crossed each other, looking amazingly like a puppy begging to be let in from the cold.

Skinner looked down into Mulder's waiting eyes one last time before beginning the game. He would make sure he asserted his position as "top", even if it was only for a game.

"You think you can have everything you want, the way you want it and when you want it, don't you, Mulder?" Skinner asked angrily, finding just the right tone of voice in his first line. Mulder stared at him, dumbfounded with Walter's abrupt transformation. "Don't you, boy?" Skinner repeated with even more ire when his question wasn't answered.

"Yes, Sir," Mulder replied quietly, barely managing to hide a smile, delighted that the game had begun in earnest. "I'm sorry, Sir," he added, casting his eyes down to his hands.

Skinner took Mulder's chin roughly in one hand, lifting his head back at an uncomfortable angle, forcing Mulder's gaze exactly where he wanted it. "You are going to serve *me* tonight, boy. If you fail to comply with my wishes, you will be punished." He saw the glint of excitement in Mulder's eyes, and a hint of movement in his lover's groin. "Now. On your stomach, legs and arms out," he commanded coldly.

Mulder did as told, stretching his arms and legs to the four corners of the mattress, face turned away from the man standing over him, head pressed into the pillow below him. 

Walter pulled the covers all the way off to pile them on the carpet at the foot of the bed. Then he moved back to the bag, pulling out a blindfold. "Head up", he said, making it easier for him to place the black band of cloth over Mulder's eyes. Mulder would find some surprises tonight, Skinner determined, already feeling enthusiasm for planning what was to come. He was no longer one bit sleepy.

Mulder's feet nearly reached the bottom of the bed, his legs spread wide so his toes hung off the edges of the double size mattress.

Beautiful, Walter thought, but not wide enough. He smiled to himself as he tossed various items from the crate to land in strategic locations around the room; most fell around where Mulder lay.

Mulder heard each item drop, wondering with each "plop" what the object was and where the next one would land. Something fell across his back; he could feel a soft leather strap of some sort, but he couldn't tell what exactly it was -- a restraint or a strop. Other items fell in the triangle of mattress between his legs, and others at his sides. He resisted showing a reaction as items landed on or near him, but his resolve betrayed him as he jerked up slightly at the occasional sound or sensation.

Having deployed his equipment and formulated a plan, Skinner first went to each corner of the bed, lifting each of Mulder's wrists and ankles up in turn to fasten thick, wide leather cuffs around them. Each cuff had sturdy rings on two sides to attach chains or tethers later, when Skinner saw fit.

That done, he moved soundlessly to the end of the bed, where Mulder's splayed feet gave him a tempting view. The buttock and hamstring muscles of the younger man before him were taut and firm, begging to be nuzzled. Holding back from launching an attack on his lover at that moment, Skinner instead reached out to firmly grab each of Mulder's ankles, holding him just above each cuff. Without warning, he quickly pulled Mulder a full ten inches closer to him and the end of the bed.

Mulder let out a muffled and surprised cry as the sudden motion caused his burgeoning erection to scrape against the rough percale fitted sheet below him. His growing penis was now pressed in flat against his stomach, it's head pushing in at his navel. The skin of his scrotum was pulled up with his prick, making his balls hug tightly to his groin. His ass felt like it would rip apart if Skinner were to force his legs a hair's breadth further apart. He also felt deliciously exposed, and the tingling between his legs increased as he laid in wait for Skinner's next move. Mulder tried to shift to a more comfortable position, but Skinner's iron grasp on his ankles prevented him from finding relief.

Just as quickly as he had jerked Mulder forward, Skinner placed each ankle against the outside of each end post at the foot of the bed, the other man's legs drawing in tight against the wood, as if of their own volition. Skinner then began lashing the first ankle to the frame with a tether pulled through one of the rings.

Once finished securing both legs, Skinner knelt on the bed between Mulder's thighs. He put his right palm down to stroke the soft skin of Mulder's firm ass.

"You are to say nothing unless it is to show your appreciation, or in answer to my questioning. You are to make no movement unless it is to give me pleasure, or by my command," he instructed. 

Mulder, who had been moaning softly and shifting slightly from side to side, testing his bonds, froze in place and immediately became silent, holding his breath to follow his master's directions completely. More than completely. After a few moments he could no longer keep this up, and let the air seep out soundlessly into the pillow below him. Still, he kept close attention to his own steady, quiet breathing, striving to please Skinner as much as he could with his obedience.

Walter watched Mulder's compliance for a full minute, satisfied with his lover's efforts. But, he knew, this was just the beginning.

"Butt in the air, hands behind your back," Skinner said at last.

This command was a complete surprise to Mulder. He had never doubted that Skinner would tie him spreadeagled to the four corners of the bed. That was how he had positioned himself. That was what he wanted. His disappointed pause was only for a moment, his exhalation barely audible, but Skinner noticed both.

"Stop there," Skinner said when Mulder had pushed himself up on all fours. Mulder froze again, anticipating Skinner's correction. His only movement was to lick his lips, trying to moisten them with what little saliva he had left in his suddenly dry mouth.

Skinner watched in delight as Mulder's genitals wobble and bob from stopping so suddenly in response to his direction.

"You have forgotten your place, boy," Skinner told his lover as he reached into the duffel and grasped the handle of a hard wooden paddle; the blade was perfectly flat and rectangular, but smoothed at the edges, about two feet long by one foot wide, with several holes drilled into it to allow air to pass through, and to add an ominous sound to the effects of each stroke.

Skinner let Mulder's exposed rear feel the cool, smooth surface of the paddle to know what was coming. "Because you need to learn that your wishes are immaterial here, you will receive eight strokes. One stroke for each inch of my prick, which should be your only concern." Skinner almost chuckled at his own dramatics. <Jeez, I can be cocky, can't I?> he marvelled. <Goddamned literally *cocky*.>

Skinner took a deep breath to bring back his serious tone for Mulder. "You may count the strokes aloud." He knew this would help him determine if the punishment became too severe. Even though they shared a safe word -- one which Mulder had stubbornly never used -- as well as safe signals for when Mulder could not speak, Skinner always wanted to be sure their games weren't going too far. After all, *he* was the one in control.

Mulder's counting was steady on the first three licks, although he did have to gasp to get each one out, and took a deep breath in preparation for the fourth. By then, both of Mulder's cheeks had a rosy glow -- always one for symmetry, Skinner stood behind Mulder and alternated sides, so Mulder had received two strokes for each bum. Skinner made the fifth swat as hard as he could, just to throw in some variety. Mulder's voice squeaked counting "five". Going into the home stretch, the last three came fast but not as hard as the first few. Mulder barely had time enough to take a steadying breath after counting each out aloud.

His discipline completed, Mulder caught his breath as he awaited Skinner's next directive.

"Now, kneel as I told you, boy," Skinner said after a full minute watching Mulder's heaving breath, watching the full redness arise on Mulder's skin. Feeling his own excitement build at the exertion of it all. He also appreciated Mulder's stalwart compliance, the motions and sounds subtly designed to please Skinner.

Mulder wobbly arranged himself into the required posture. He barely let his chest touch the bed to balance himself, trying to be graceful in his awkward display. He kept his shoulders and arm muscles tense as he strained to keep his hands behind him, untethered leather cuffs still encircling his wrists, knowing Walter liked the soft definition of his arms and shoulders. His rear wiggled seductively at the man behind him.

Skinner nearly laughed at this before moving off to his left, pulling a chair out of the corner to station himself three feet from the dresser side of the bed. He hummed softly as he watched the man posing and squirming and sighing on the bed; tried to make it seem like he had the entire weekend to play the game. Which he did, he remembered with a slight smile. 

Still blindfolded, Mulder nevertheless placed his head on the mattress to face where Skinner sat, imagining how his master was reacting to his performance.

Skinner, glad for the blindfold's role in hiding him from Mulder's view, recognized this ploy and casually got up and strode, again, to the foot of the bed. He picked up his next implements. Reaching under Mulder to squeeze his lover's firm erection, eliciting a gasp of surprise, he then reached down for the sac hanging close behind. He gently cupped and caressed it for a few moments. Then, just as suddenly, he grasped the sac and pulled it backward until Mulder cried out. "Oh, my God..."

"Keep that up, boy, and I'll have to gag you," Skinner informed the man in front of him. "Understand?"

"Yes, Sir...you'll gag me," came Mulder's breathless squeak of a reply. The young man was breathing much heavier now than ever this night, apparently anticipating the threatened consequence.

Left hand still pulling Mulder's scrotum taut, Skinner used his right hand to slip an adjustable leather cock ring down Mulder's shaft, and then to loop the attached harness around Mulder's balls. This harness, constructed by Mulder to fit him perfectly, was secured to a thick leather belt to buckle firmly around Mulder's waist; straps went up from the belt and over his shoulders like suspenders, crossing over his chest and back in an "X" with a large metal ring at the center of each cross, connecting again to the belt in back. Two more sturdy latex straps that went underneath -- one with a hole for fitting in an anal plug, and another to go over the first strap and to hold the hard rubber intrusion deep in place. 

Skinner carefully fastened all this on Mulder, who could not help but groan as their longest and thickest butt plug, four inches long and over an inch thick, was slowly worked into his stretched hole. Bringing the ends of the latex straps up to the small of Mulder's back, he pulled them to press tightly into Mulder's crack before attaching them to their rightful places on the belt. 

The suspender straps were carefully adjusted to cross snugly over Mulder's chest and back, and to help keep the harness from loosening or riding down even the slightest bit. Four leather handles on both front and back of the suspenders -- two parallel with his nipples, two even with his navel, with matching handles on the backside, eight in total -- made it easy for Skinner to pull Mulder into position whenever they played, or to provide more tethering points.

Skinner's next job was to secure Mulder's hands, which the younger man still held faithfully behind him. For this, Skinner chose two lengths of half-inch-thick chain with quick-release clips on each end only he could operate, attaching them to the outside loops on the metal cuffs. Once attached, he carefully grabbed Mulder by the elbows and lifted him upright, still kneeling, but now no longer able to support his top half on the bed. Holding on to the chains that hung from each cuff, Skinner pulled them back and to each side so that Mulder's arms were crossed behind him, midway between the cuffs and the elbows. Skinner looped the end of each chain around the opposite end post of the footboard, where Mulder's ankles were also restrained, connecting the clips to a link in each chain just high up enough to pull Mulder's shoulders back and to cause his chest to strain.

Finally, Skinner got up onto the bed to kneel in front of Mulder. He looked closely at the blindfolded man's face, watching the tension in Mulder's jaw and the flush of blood just below the skin of Mulder's throat and chest. The tendons in Mulder's neck and shoulders stood out, pectorals stretched and firm, and abdominals at full definition. Mulder still said nothing, breathing hard through his nose, gritting his teeth and shaking slightly from the position he'd been put in.

<My God, I'm a lucky man>, Skinner thought as his appreciative eyes took in the sight of the beautiful body in front of him, there for him alone. 

Tearing himself out of his reverie, satisfied with Mulder's reaction to the situation he'd been put in, Skinner made one last adjustment. He picked up a strong strap -- one that looked like a giant's belt, 30 feet of three-inch wide leather with a two-pronged buckle at one end and double eye holes along most of its length -- from where it had lain on the mattress all this time. Skinner passed one end through the two handles on the straps across Mulder's chest, then brought this longer belt forward to draw it around the two centermost slats of the headboard. Threading it back toward Mulder, Skinner wrapped it around his chest just under the armpits, around and through the top two handles, the unfinished side scraping against Mulder's erect nipples, passing once again over Mulder's back; then Skinner brought it through the headboard a second time, higher than the other loop, finally joining both ends. Skinner brought the opposite end through the buckle and then tugged on it until Mulder's formerly tense jaw dropped open to take in more air. Skinner's sign that the belt was sufficiently tight. He then inserted the twin prongs into the appropriate holes and laced the loose end through the thin strip of leather behind the buckle.

The intricate lacing of the long strap around Mulder that twisted him forward, in counterbalance to the opposite direction his legs and arms were secured, was as much a precaution for Skinner as a turn-on for Mulder. It gave the very real sensation of being pulled in two directions at once, something Skinner knew Mulder adored -- while, more importantly, ensuring that Mulder could not possibly fall backward and do real damage to himself if he lost his balance.

The entire contraption, Skinner knew, would give Mulder a painful strain on his genitals -- especially if he would be so impetuous as to try to move an inch. Beginning their scene by rendering Mulder virtually immobile, in constant discomfort and tension, and a string's pull away from both pleasure and pain, Skinner had set the stage for the rest of the night and re-established both partners' roles in this game, in no uncertain terms.

Skinner surveyed all Mulder's trappings to satisfy himself that each was adequately secure and that Mulder would be safe, yet tortured, in this position. He pulled here and there on strap, harness, and chain, testing the effect of his hard work and inventiveness and being rewarded with a variety of moans, groans, gasps, and the occasional squeak from his helpless victim.

Left in total darkness by the blindfold and forbidden to speak on threat of further punishment, legs spread wide and immobile, arms pulled to their limit behind him, torso tethered forward like an archer's bow, throbbing genitals excruciatingly trussed and stretched, and anus stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey, Mulder knew he was now totally at his lover's mercy. He revelled in it, and on whatever Skinner had dreamed up for him next.

Tired and hungry from all his activity, Skinner took one last look and left the room, heading down the hall.

All Mulder could hear was the refrigerator door open, and then the TV click on.

*************

From Skinner's report:

"I had been approached by Patterson with a request that Mulder be brought in to assist on the serial murder case for which Patterson was arrested, tried, and convicted. Knowing Patterson by reputation only, I had no idea at the time of his homicidal and unstable mental state. Upon receiving Mulder's report of Patterson's arrest, I was shocked at the cruelty with which he treated each of his victims."

                     *************  
ISU offices  
Quantico, VA  
Jan. 17  
3:14 a.m.

Patterson had entered easily with Mike's key card, finding the familiar workplace set up quite differently than he had had it. Still the same furniture, of course -- government budgets and all, he thought -- but everything seemed to be in new places.

"Why can't people just keep things the way they are?" he wondered aloud as he set about to get everything ready. People are never satisfied with the way things are, he answered himself in his mind.

                       *************

Mulder's apartment  
3:37 a.m.

After a few short minutes feeding himself and facing temptation with the Home Shopping Club's late-night Bargain-a-Thon, Skinner had returned to the bedroom where his lover was trussed, carefully avoiding letting his presence known. He had left the TV going, hoping Mulder would believe he was still there, casually enjoying a private break from their activities.

During this time, both in the living room and seated in the chair next to the bed, Skinner had valiantly resisted the further temptation of jacking himself off. He did, however, stroke the area around his member, teasing himself, just lightly enough to excite further without bringing on an orgasm. Not wanting to betray his presence, Walter held back sounds that would evidence his own desire as he bathed in the sight and sounds of Mulder's private arousal.

Still, Skinner thought, he was not going to allow the game to end until he'd received a blow job worthy of his efforts.

When Mulder seemed near exhaustion from straining to remain in the kneeling position Skinner had placed him in, Walter quietly got up from his chair and padded over to the doorway. Creating obvious sounds of his presence by turning the doorknob, letting the door hit the wall, and coughing lightly.

Skinner saw Mulder turn his head slightly toward the door as Walter approached him and gently kissed his lips. Then he slowly released Mulder from the bonds anchoring him to the bed, but planned to leave the cuffs and body harness on while he surveyed Mulder's condition. He made sure the butt plug was still firmly in place.

Finally freeing Mulder of the tethers, Skinner helped him lay face down again on the mattress. Knowing the younger man would be cramped, he expertly massaged Mulder's arm, leg and back muscles.

"Thank you, Sir," Mulder said, his voice roughened and tight from emotion and lack of use.

Skinner sighed with practiced, infinite patience. "What were you instructed?" Skinner's voice was loving but firm, like a schoolmaster correcting an errant student.

Mulder thought a moment. "Don't say a word, without your permission, or you'll gag me." Mulder's full lips tensed closed, and he pressed his face harder into the mattress.

Skinner ran his fingers through Mulder's hair. "That's right, young man. And you were warned not once, but twice. I'm very disappointed in you. Now, I'll give you a choice: shall we continue, and this will be your lesson, or would you rather sleep now and we'll take up this matter at another time?"

Mulder took in a deep breath, considering this. "I would like to learn from this now, Sir," was his decision.

"All right then," Skinner said, going to the duffel bag on the floor and selecting a pear-shaped ball gag. "Get up and stand beside the bed. Hands at your sides. Tell me if you can't."

Mulder managed to raise his sore body up off the bed and into the prescribed stance, but was a bit unsteady on his feet.

Skinner gave him time to recover or reconsider, busying himself with looking though the bag and picking out a few more items. Then he took each of Mulder's cuffed wrists and tied the laces of each to a ring embedded on each side of the belt Mulder wore. Mulder's hands were again immobilized, his elbows sticking out slightly from his waist.

Mulder heard Walter leave the room again for a minute, presumably to arrange things in another part of the apartment. Finally, his lover stood directly in front of him.

"I believe your insubordination deserves more than a gag, and I should have some compensation," Skinner said at last, piquing Mulder's curiosity. "I think before I fill your mouth with this," Skinner indicated by pressing the hard rubber ball into Mulder's chest, "I will fill it with *me*."

Mulder swallowed hard, knowing what the next step would be and licking his lips again.

"On your knees, and open your mouth," Skinner ordered, guiding Mulder by a handle on the front of the harness, gently pulling down to prompt Mulder to kneel in the middle of the open space of carpet a few feet out from the bed.

Mulder knelt, opened his mouth and waited.

Skinner grasped the back of Mulder's head, grabbing a handful of hair, and brought Mulder's widely parted lips to encompass his own erection. Skinner shuddered with pleasure as the velvety texture of Mulder's palate caressed his length. He held himself fully into Mulder, tip touching the back of Mulder's throat, until Mulder struggled slightly for breath.

He pulled himself partway out of Mulder's warm mouth, looking down as Mulder quietly took in air through his nose. "Time you worked for your keep, boy," Skinner said to the man below him, easing his grip almost imperceptibly.

Given more reign to move, Mulder eagerly devoured him, sucking with gusto at first, then working with the hard, rhythmic thrusts Skinner had begun.

Panting gasps soon took over Skinner's body, as he closed his eyes and turned his face up to the ceiling. His hand grew more urgent in its pushing and pulling of hair and scalp, Mulder's cooperation being perfectly timed with his need. Walter stood stock still as the man below him, who proved to be a very hungry boy indeed, did everything he could to pleasure him.

"Mulder," he exclaimed breathlessly, shakily, as he repeatedly and simultaneously rammed into the head he held with one hand and caressed the silky hair on that head with the other hand.

Having waited for most of the night for this, it was not long before Skinner's orgasm shot furiously into Mulder's throat, giving the recipient a challenge to swallow it all without choking. Skinner almost fell over the man on the floor as he slowly pulled out, gasping for breath, his cock still quite firm but beginning to grow flaccid again.

Skinner knelt down directly in front of Mulder and wrapped his arms around the other man's shoulders in unspoken thanks. Mulder, also wordless, with hands still bound at his sides and blindfold still rendering him sightless, greedily ran his tongue out as far as it would reach to catch what liquid had escaped his throat. Kissing Mulder's ear first, Skinner went to help his lover clean up his face and mouth with his own lips and his own tongue.

Once recovered enough to continue, Skinner stood up again, knowing it was time to finish Mulder off once and for all. He also needed to keep his promise to correct him for speaking out of turn.

"Now, boy, don't think I've forgotten you. Time for you to be plugged at *both* ends."

Still kneeling, tasting the last of Skinner's cum, Mulder himself had forgotten what was his due. Before he could become more aroused at the prospect, Skinner's hand came from behind him to force his jaw open again, and he felt the hard rubber form shoved roughly into his mouth, filling it as completely as Skinner's cock had moments earlier.

Muffled sounds of protest escaped around the obstruction, and Skinner paused to check on his victim. "You remember our signals?"

"Mmpfh!" and a definite nod from Mulder.

Skinner smiled, enjoying the muffled sound Mulder made, the childlike eagerness with which Mulder still played the game. He knew Mulder's eyes would be bright underneath the black cloth that covered them. "All of them?"

Mulder nodded even harder and made another muffled sound of assent.

They shared a total of four physical signals, in addition to the safe word. The use of any one of these would make the game end if Mulder was in trouble. Mulder was to use the first signal, but if he was unable to do that for whatever reason, he was to move on to the next signal and so forth. Skinner kept close watch at times like this, when Mulder was at risk and especially vulnerable.

Satisfied by Mulder's response, Skinner continued. Straps attached to the gag were brought behind Mulder's head and buckled at the nape of his neck. The shape of the gag allowed Mulder to close his lips almost completely around the narrow end, but the larger bulk inside kept his tongue pressed firmly down. Although he could move his tongue enough to swallow, the rubber filled his mouth so that he could not pull his tongue back or up enough to either choke or produce more than a feeble grunt.

Another grunt is what Skinner got as he reached his arms around Mulder from behind, through the triangles formed by Mulder's trapped hands at his sides, and lifted him to his feet again. He knew it would be nearly impossible for Mulder to walk with the anal plug still inserted, so he had devised a solution for transport.

Skinner had considered simply taking the plug out and putting a collar and leash on Mulder for the next stage of their play, but decided he preferred the closer, skin-to-skin manhandling that would be required to get his "pet" to where he had set things up. Grasping Mulder's right forearm in his own left hand, then wrapping his own right arm around Mulder's right leg, Skinner grunted as he hoisted Mulder over both shoulders.

Mulder felt himself becoming a bit disoriented as he was carried out of the room and down the hall like the carcass of lion on the back of a lion hunter. Finally, he was gently deposited back on his feet as Skinner placed him at the next spot in his plans.

Although he was slightly confused by the blindfold and the unconventional method of his relocation, Mulder knew his own apartment well enough to ascertain that he was now standing in the center of his living room. He puzzled at the identity of the piece of furniture he had been pushed into, because there was normally nothing where he thought he was standing.

He recognized it when he was firmly shoved forward to lay his chest and stomach over the top: it was the high, narrow table his mother had given him recently when she had redecorated her own house -- the type that would have fit nicely behind his couch, if he didn't have to keep his couch against the wall in his narrow apartment. Although it was good quality, he didn't really like the table, but he hadn't wanted to upset his mother by turning the rare gift down. He had immediately stuck it in his entryway, where it didn't fit either, serving mainly as a place to put his keys and wallet. He had planned to give it to Scully, who had more space.

<Good choice, Walt>, he mentally commended, as he rested one side of his face on the highly-polished wood.

Walter had gone to work at unlacing Mulder's cuffs from his sides and reattaching them under the intricately-shaped crossbar that joined the two front table legs for added strength near the bottom.

The table fit Mulder well. The top was exactly as wide as his shoulders, and positioned as he was, he could be fastened down hand and foot and still not have to hang his head over the edge. Being allowed -- for the time being -- to keep his feet flat on the floor at the other end, Mulder's long body still was not as long as the table, and his arms had to be stretched forward to connect his wrist laces to the wooden joints below.

Finished with containing Mulder's arms, Skinner moved to do the same with Mulder's ankles, using the strong laces on those cuffs to attach each ankle to either joint of wood. His feet were lifted up and his knees pushed out to hug the sides of the table. Mulder just hoped this new addition to their games would withstand the full force of his 170 pounds and then some, if he had guessed correctly of what Skinner intended. But, knowing Skinner, he had tested it out himself and it had passed muster. A chuckle escaped around Mulder's gag as he imagined Skinner kneeling on all fours on top of the table, bouncing up and down to be sure it wouldn't collapse.

"Something funny?" Skinner asked, just finishing with Mulder's legs and standing up again.

Feeling brazen and fresh from the night's activities, Mulder grunted something that sounded amazingly like "Uh-huh" past the rubber ball in his mouth, and nodded his head toward where Skinner's voice had come.

"Let's see how funny you think what I'm going to do to you is." With that, Skinner tossed a leather strap across Mulder's back. For a moment, Mulder thought he was going to get a whipping for simply making noise with the gag in his mouth. That would have been an unprecedented consequence in their games; although the "no sounds" rule had not been revoked, it was their unspoken understanding that once he was gagged, his protests and grunts and cries -- even the occasional cocky response, like he had just given Skinner --would go unpunished, or met with only a crisp slap of a palm on one buttcheek. However, he soon realized what he thought was a menacingly wide strop was actually the long leather belt that had secured him to the headboard, and that Skinner meant to use it to strap him down more firmly to the table top.

Always enjoying giving Skinner a challenge at this stage of the game --although at this point he knew he would be unable to extricate himself even if Skinner decided to abandon him until sunup -- Mulder took advantage of the slight amount of leverage he had from his bent knees and pushed up, acting as if he were trying to avoid being further restrained. His still-rigid, still-harnessed cock bumped firmly into the edge of the table as he struggled forward, making the attached thongs dig deeper between his spread cheeks and tug back and forth at the large butt plug that still filled him. He found the sensations painfully delicious, and struggled all the harder, almost forgetting he was playing "escape" with Skinner.

Amused at this, Skinner kept his voice in a controlled monotone as he chastised Mulder for his lack of self-control. "Now, now, my boy, none of that," he said as he gave Mulder a deserved smack on the rear with his open palm, grasped both handles on the back of Mulder's harness, and pulled him back so the tops of his hipbones were braced against the table's edge again. Keeping one hand gripped around a handle while Mulder continued to squirm, Skinner managed to wrap the long strap three times around Mulder and the table -- just under his rib cage, across his shoulder blades, and finally over his turned head, covering the upturned ear with leather and pinning the other ear firmly down on the wood -- before twisting the two ends around the tops of opposite table legs so they could go one last time diagonally over Mulder's back, to be cinched with no slack and then buckled.

Mulder didn't think he'd ever been so completely immobilized before. Only his hands and toes could find motion. For several minutes he lay there, testing the restraints and finding not a bit of give anywhere.

He suddenly realized he had not heard Skinner say a word since he had begun lashing him down, and had not sensed Skinner nearby since he had finished fastening the buckle. No longer playing "trying to escape", Mulder felt panic set in. A valiant fight to free himself proved futile.

Worst of all, he remembered his signals, used each one in turn, and still got no response. Mulder was screaming into the gag now, pulling at the strong tethers that held his arms to the table legs, feeling like his muscles would tear with the strain he was exerting.

As suddenly as he had begun them, Mulder ceased his efforts and heaved a sigh of relief at the sound of solid, heavy footsteps approaching him, sounds dulled to Mulder's pressed and covered ears, but still audible. <Walter, I swear, I'm gonna kill you when I get out of this,> he promised, a little embarrassed for having frightened so easily, but still furious that Skinner would leave him alone when he was gagged and completely helpless.

Mulder was too shocked to resume his struggles when he realized the producer of the footsteps was not Skinner. He recognized the self-assured, arrogant voice immediately.

"Well, what do you know," Patterson said when he had reached the table where Mulder lay. The intruder slipped Mulder's blindfold off his face and leaned over so the ready-made captive could get a good look. "I come all the way here, expecting to have you put up a fight, and here you are, ready and waiting for me." He then walked around to where Mulder's legs were spread before him and caressed the pale roundness of flesh.

Mulder fought the ties some more, angrily letting Patterson know with his efforts at vocalization that his touch was not welcome.

Patterson ignored Mulder's noise, focusing instead on the younger man's furious attempts to free himself. "Don't bother; you can't get out by yourself."

Mulder felt his former mentor hook a finger under the straps running between Mulder's legs, tugging at them roughly a few times and sending a chain reaction of sharp pain down to the tender flesh enveloping the attached anal plug, and onward to Mulder's cock and balls, still confined by the leather band around the shaft and the attached cords surrounding his balls. Objects which still forced him to maintain an erection, despite his terror and revulsion, and at the same time prevented him from release. Mulder thought he might actually choke this time as he screamed into the ball gag, straining to lift his head, despite the strap than held his skull fast to the hard wood.

Patterson chuckled at the power over Mulder he had so unexpectedly been handed. "Your new boss was very thorough, Mulder. Yes, he did a fine job here. Now I'm taking over."

Quietly weeping from the torture he'd just been put through, Mulder managed to make a muffled, questioning sound. Patterson knew exactly what the question was.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about him walking in on us, son," Patterson said, feigning a reassuring tone and patting Mulder's thigh. "But you might want to toss out that rug in your kitchen; it's going to have a nasty stain."

*************

Mulder's apartment  
4:49 a.m.  
Jan. 17

The choking tightness in his chest was unbearable as Mulder tried to take in what he was now sure had occurred. Walter was dead...dead on the kitchen floor a few feet away from where Mulder now lay. The terror of discovering Patterson in the apartment was nothing in magnitude to the shock, grief, and guilt Mulder was experiencing. But Mulder vowed to himself that he was not going to break down in front of his captor; he refused to give the animal that satisfaction, although Mulder desperately needed to express his immense feeling of loss.

Deftly unstrapping him, Patterson had used the laces of Mulder's wrist cuffs to secure his hands to the back of the waist harness, the tethers of his ankle shackles to wrap his feet tightly together. Although Mulder continued to squirm in protest, Patterson had managed to wrestle the lanky man's frame to the ground with the added help of the leather handholds, dumping him unceremoniously face down on the carpet.

His legs no longer spread wide, the presence of the large plug inside him -- a presence which had been undeniable from the moment his lover had inserted it became an agony that brought Mulder close to unconsciousness as muscles were forced to tighten around the intrusion. 

Still gagged and bound but no longer held fast to the wood surface, fighting off waves of faintness, Mulder strained to keep his head up so he could watch as Patterson moved throughout the apartment.

Patterson looked to be preparing to leave, gathering items together --including, Mulder noticed with dread, the large duffel filled with Mulder's personal tools of bondage and torture. Items he had purchased or fashioned himself, for himself, never imagining they would ever be used against him like this.

As Patterson made these preparations, the older man continued to ramble on in confusion about, as Mulder interpreted it, his own skewed version of various events during Mulder's career at the ISU. And of how Mulder had deliberately left on bad terms with the man who had, as Patterson described, "discovered and nurtured" him when no one else had seen his talent.

                     *************

Alexandria outskirts  
5:22 a.m.

Duke Ellington led his orchestra in their tune about taking the "A" Train as William Patterson took the BMW down I-95, his cargo safely drugged into blind oblivion and sealed inside the trunk. Dawn was breaking, and Patterson was grateful he had gotten out of the apartment and on his way while it was still dark. He had seen no one in the building or on the streets as he had wrestled Mulder and the bag of goodies down the stairs and into the car; no one in their right mind would be out in the pre-dawn hours in that cold.

It would have been much easier to carry out his plan in the apartment, he knew, instead of heading back to the office he had prepared. In fact, Patterson had been sorely tempted to fuck Mulder senseless as soon as he had him alone on the table. Mulder was like a Christmas present nestled under the tree on Christmas morning -- all wrapped up and waiting to be torn into. But no, Patterson decided; he had planned this day for a long time, had made all the preparations, and he was going to have Mulder on *his* terms.

So, quite stoically, he judged, he had denied himself the pleasure of ramming Mulder's still-pink ass (Patterson wished he had arrived in time to witness the spanking that had brought on that color, although he would have been tempted to rip the paddle out of Skinner's hands and do the job himself, blowing his whole scheme) as the agent was so fortuitously spread out for him. He could have easily gratified the raging erection that had burgeoned as soon as he discovered what Mulder and Skinner had been up to in the pre-dawn hours in the apartment. But that would have been too easy, and it would not be his doing. It had to be *his* will that made it possible, or it wouldn't mean anything. Patterson decided to follow through in its original design with what he had dreamed of almost continually since Mulder had caused Patterson's confinement.

Patterson passed the 123 turnoff. The road to Quantico was open now, with no obstructions to get in his way.

It was a shame what he had been forced to do to Walter Skinner. He had never expected to find the man there, and had especially not expected to find him naked and probably, by virtue of their activities, looking for a can of Crisco cooking oil in the kitchen pantry.

The A.D. had Patterson's respect; although he had never really had the chance to know Skinner, other than by reputation, he had always thought the man was probably much like him. Having broken into the apartment when he did, finding the A.D. and the agent in the midst of this awesome display, Patterson was shocked to realize just how much of a kinship Skinner and himself shared.

The car's shocks got a workout as it passed over a series of rough bumps in the highway, and Patterson's thoughts went to the bundle nestled in the compartment behind him. Shot up with enough tranquilizer stolen from St. Elizabeth's supply to tame a good-sized leopard, tied and wrapped in the blood-soaked kitchenrug his "boyfriend" (Patterson balked at the thought of any other man touching Mulder, now that his reward was so close) had so thoughtlessly ruined.

Yes, Patterson thought, this prize was worth the effort he had made to obtain it. The prize he had striven for over the past two years -- two years exactly today. The brilliant "Spooky" Mulder, frustratingly rebellious, seemingly oblivious to his Adonis-like beauty, the man for whom he'd done all of this. The ungrateful young man who had ruined his life.

                      *************

ISU offices  
Quantico, VA  
9:37 a.m.

Mulder awoke to find himself in a time warp. Seated at his desk from nearly a decade earlier, the office around him looked as if he had just opened his eyes from a nap stolen at work years ago. A modern-day Rip Van Winkle. The difference, he immediately noticed, was that this time he was tied down to his chair.

A quip about what a slave driver some bosses could be came briefly to his mind, but he wasn't much in the mood for joking.

The trip down memory lane was further triggered by the sight of his former mentor, who should have still been safely behind locked doors at St. Elizabeth's, standing in front of his desk. 

Fear and horror having distracted him back at his apartment enough to not look at the man in detail, Mulder noticed in this familiar setting that Patterson was dressed much like he had been the last time he had seen him: in a three-piece grey suit, a conservative blue and grey tie, and a black, thick wool overcoat. Clothes a bit ill-fitting and body about twenty pounds heavier, Mulder guessed, but otherwise looking almost exactly the same.

Stranger still, Mulder found that he was no longer naked, and no longer wore the harness and leather cuffs he had let Skinner adorn him with. Patterson had even removed his anal plug, cock ring and ball straps, Mulder realized somewhat thankfully, who would be in far worse shape than he was if they were still on. It was like his time with Skinner had never been. 

Patterson had dressed him in typical Bureau dress code attire -- except, he noticed, he had found one of Mulder's dress-code-deviant neckties to put around his neck. Apparently, Mulder surmised, Patterson wanted everything to be as he remembered it from Mulder's day as one of his underlings.

In place of the thick leather restraints Skinner had put him in hours earlier, his wrists and ankles were now enclosed in steel cuffs. The standard police-issue hardware was joined together by hobble chains that pulled his four limbs under and behind the chair, feet off the ground and arms stretched down to nearly meet them, putting him in a seated hog-tied position. Two thick rubber bungee cords hooked around him at his waist and chest to keep his back flush against the chair.

Patterson also must have taken the gag out of his mouth while he was unconscious, Mulder realized as he came further out of his drugged lethargy, swallowing painfully.

Patterson went to hang his overcoat on the coat tree near the door as Mulder tried to think, through the remaining fog in his brain, of what he was going to do to get out of this alive. Then he considered that maybe he didn't really want to survive whatever Patterson had in store.

"What the hell are you doing, Patterson?" Mulder shot out, his voice raspy and hoarse. "What idiot let you out, and what do you want with me?"

"Mulder, I expected something more original out of you," came the reply from the former chief of investigations, coming forward to lean one hip heavily on the front edge of the desk, the other foot planted on the floor.

Mulder stared at the man in front of him, then looked down to hide his emotion.

"You killed him, you motherfucker," he accused quietly. Then his voice strengthened, his vehemence growing inside him again. "You killed him, didn't you?" Mulder dared to look up at the man in front of him, angry challenge and indignation in his eyes. This was the kind of monster he had been chasing all his adult life, and he was impotent to stop it.

Patterson ignored the question, but not the opportunity to further torment his former subordinate. "Goodness, such language!" he exclaimed in false surprise, then got up to walk around the desk to stand behind Mulder, holding on to the swivel chair and turning it around to face him. To lean forward and look his prize directly in the eye. "Not a motherfucker, young man. No; but I do plan to do some Mulderfucking today."

                      *************

Mulder's apartment  
same time

"Mulder!" Dana Scully called as she knocked on the door again, louder this time. "Mulder, you've had your phone off the hook!"

Scully had been informed earlier that morning that Bill Patterson had escaped from St. Elizabeth's the night before; according to the FBI operator, both Skinner and Mulder had been unreachable -- no answer at Skinner's all night, and a busy signal at Mulder's each time he was called. When Scully continued to get a busy signal trying to reach Mulder, too, she headed over to his apartment to let him know the developments.

Mulder should have been at home. She knew it was Skinner's weekend here, and she knew that they were in the habit of sleeping in on Saturdays. Skinner's settling influence on Mulder's life had made her formerly elusive partner much easier to track down, but this morning it was apparently making him one hell of a pain in the butt to rouse.

Scully jiggled the doorknob and was worried to find it unlocked. <Those two should know enough to be more careful,> she thought, drawing her gun and cautiously entering the apartment. Far too many times, a situation like this with Mulder had been actual evidence of foul play. And with Patterson on the loose...it seemed like too much of a coincidence. She told herself that she was probably unnecessarily concerned, but she didn't really believe her own reassurances.

Walking forward to the living room, she had a sense that things were out of place. The table she'd never seen tipped her off, but maybe Mulder had picked it up recently and not found a place for it. A large smudge of blood on the carpet -- not soaking the carpet but covering the top of the fibers as if something soaked in blood had lain on top of it -- was not visible until she had fully entered the room. Gasping at the discovery, she knew it was undeniable proof that something was seriously wrong.

Moving faster now, backing up and taking a left down the hallway, Scully first checked the bedroom. The bedding was lumped on the floor, and she was puzzled to see two long chains hanging from the bed's footboard. <Don't think too much about that, Dana>, she told herself. An image entering her mind -- Skinner and Mulder laughing and joking, happy together, the last time she had seen them off duty. She went to check the rest of the apartment.

Finally, she got to the kitchen. "Oh, my God," was all she could say before she ran for the phone.

                     *************

Quantico ISU offices  
10:23 a.m.

The last half hour had been reminiscent of Mulder's university days. "Lecture time with Bill," as Patterson held a private diatribe on Mulder's past transgressions of disrespect and disloyalty. Lecture and not discussion because the first time Mulder came to his own defense, trying a bit of reality testing on his former supervisor, Patterson would have none of it. He shoved and buckled the ball gag brought from the apartment back into Mulder's mouth.

Finally, Patterson's lesson in office etiquette came to a conclusion, and he gave his former student an ultimatum.

"I am willing to forgive what you have done," Patterson said, finally ending his pacing to stand inches from where Mulder still sat, "if you will make some simple concessions to me."

Patterson waited for some response from the man fastened to the chair below him. Mulder only glared back.

Patterson was annoyed at Mulder's stubbornness. "Son, don't make this hard on yourself," he advised, finally pulling up a chair directly in front of Mulder and sitting forward, an air of paternal concern and camaraderie in his demeanor. "I've always liked you, Mulder. You just..." he began, casting about for just the right words to express his frustration. Finally, he could no longer contain his irritation and raised his voice from its previous control. "You just need to LEARN SOME RESPECT!" Patterson shouted the final words.

The teacher stood up again and turned his back on his errant pupil. Hands on hips, he breathed deeply to regain his composure. He tried again. "I'm going to ask two things of you, Mulder, and then I will let you go." He turned back around to see Mulder's reaction.

Curious, but doubtful. Mulder was smart enough to know he probably had no intention of keeping his end of the deal.

Patterson chose his words carefully, delivered them slowly. "You are going to willingly let me do what Skinner was doing last night to you," he explained, noting Mulder's unsurprised expression. "Freely and willingly, you're going to give yourself to me. And," he added quickly, "You're going to call me 'Sir.' Just like you said it to him. With respect."

                      *************

The paramedics had come and gone. Skinner had adamantly refused to go to the hospital. A blow to the head had opened a large gash, now cleaned and bandaged, but Scully doubted he anything as serious as a fractured skull. The injury seemed to be limited to a bad concussion. He had lost a great deal of blood; luckily, the head wound had clotted on its own while he had been unconscious, or he might have bled to death.

After five years of working with both of them, and especially after getting to know Skinner much more personally over the last year, Scully knew that the A.D. was every bit as stubborn as Mulder. There was no swaying the ex-Marine from his mission: to go find Patterson and Mulder.

Although he had been taken totally by surprise when he entered the kitchen, Skinner had gotten a glimpse of Patterson as he went down after the man attacked him from behind. A well-placed blow with something very hard had knocked him out completely until Scully had arrived to shake him out of unconsciousness.

"Scully, it looks a lot worse than it is," Skinner said to convince her to let him come along as she got the search for Mulder underway. "I *am* your supervisor, you know. I am *not* going to go anywhere until Mulder is safe."

Scully was not going to waste precious time arguing. Despite the blood, the A.D. did seem out of any danger -- no sign of faintness or lethargy that would indicate serious head trauma. She had always thought Skinner had a hard head, and here was proof that it was literally true. She could use his help, anyway, in organizing a search for Patterson and Mulder.

The question now was, where to start looking.

                     *************

Quantico ISU offices

Patterson's conditions sickened Mulder. The thought of passively letting that monster touch him in any way was absolutely repulsive. Even more out of the question was the demand that he call his captor "Sir", and not being allowed to have the least bit of sarcasm in his voice. To say it with the same genuine tone of honest respect he had used when he said it to Skinner in their most private moments.

Patterson squatted down in front of Mulder, reaching behind him to unbuckle the strap that held Mulder's gag in place. "Now, Mulder, I'm going to take this off, and I want to hear the answer you and I both know you should give. Do this one simple thing for me, son, and in an hour or so it will all be over. I'll let you live." Patterson smiled gently as the straps came undone. Stroked Mulder's knee before he gave Mulder back his voice. "After that, we can go somewhere, away from all of this, where no one will bother us. I know you used to like me, Mulder. I can show you I'm not such a bad guy after all."

Mulder's disgust turned into silent rage. How dare this man murder his lover and then ask this of him. Mulder knew Patterson was insane, he knew there were ways to deal with such insanity, to humor him until opportunity allowed Mulder a chance of escape. But Mulder was not going to humor him. No way was he going to let this creature coerce him into handing over what had been gladly given to Skinner in love. Now that Skinner was gone, Mulder was not going to sully the memory of the special relationship they had shared.

Patterson carefully pulled the hard obstruction from Mulder's mouth and waited for his answer, hopeful excitement brightening his features. <No way can he turn this offer down,> the older man thought. <He'll see that we can make this work; it's that, or death for him, and he knows it.> Still squatting in front of Mulder's chair, he felt his own erection throb to life in anticipation of what was to come.

The gag removed, Mulder remained silent, staring back at the eager, crazed man in front of him.

"Well, Mulder, what'll it be? Some mind-blowing sex with your old boss, or a headstone next to your late A.D.?"

Hearing that, Mulder could barely contain his rage. He clenched his jaw as he slowly enunciated each word of his answer.

"Fuck...You...Patterson." Mulder clearly and quietly spat out the words, filling each sound with all the hate he felt as he glared at the maniac who held him. He was probably going to die today, he knew, but he no longer wanted to live. His only motivation to go on was to see his old boss dead at his own hands. Once that goal was accomplished, Mulder would take his own life, as well. 

                      *************

Downtown D.C.

They had taken Scully's car, getting on the road with Skinner riding shotgun, the A.D. trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head as he efficiently garnered all the resources he could on Scully's cell phone.

Mike Delaney's new housekeeper had discovered her boss' dead body an hour earlier. Skinner gathered from the D.C. police detective on the case that the poor woman had only been working for him for a month, coming in two mornings each week, and here she had to go find another job that suited her college schedule.

The housekeeper also had noticed that Delaney's car was missing, and an APB was out for both Patterson and the vehicle. Skinner made it clear in all his contacts with various agencies that a federal officer had been brutally murdered, another left for dead, and a third kidnapped. Law enforcement folks tended to take it personally when their own were targeted by criminals, and Skinner hoped stressing the facts of the situation would light some fires under a few butts.

Both Scully and Skinner knew they needed some luck on their side, although they didn't discuss it with each other. They already had found some luck, though. An extensive search for Patterson had been underway since shortly after his escape the night before, but those involved in the search didn't have anything to go by to know where to look. Then, when news of Delaney's murder with a blunt knife of some kind came through to the police, some bright mind at the DCPD who had known that Patterson and Delaney had been close friends for years had made the connection -- that Patterson had made his former best friend his first victim.

At the moment, Scully and Skinner were headed to the Hoover Building, planning to set up a base of operations. Although their chances of finding Patterson and Mulder had improved greatly with the discovery of the murder, it still didn't bring them any closer to knowing where Patterson would go next.

As Skinner continued to make and receive calls, never putting the cell phone away for even a moment, Scully puzzled over the question of Patterson's possible location. First of all, she wondered, why did Patterson take Mulder in the first place? If it was for some kind of revenge, why didn't he do whatever he was going to do at Mulder's apartment, instead of risking detection on the road?

Secondly, if Delaney and Patterson had been such great friends for so many years, why would Patterson go so far out of his way to murder Delaney? Just to steal some clothes and a car? That would be ridiculous. Was Patterson angry with Delaney, too, for taking over his position at the ISU? It didn't make sense. From what she had heard, Mulder was the one Patterson had obsessed over while in the hospital.

The answers to these questions continued to evade her as she pulled the car into the employee garage at the Hoover. She reached for her ID to show the guard at the gate. Glancing at the badge, she froze as she suddenly realized where Patterson had taken Mulder. And why Delaney had been first on Patterson's list of victims.

With Skinner looking vastly surprised, taking the phone away from his face to ask her what the hell she was doing, she quickly maneuvered out of the entrance to the garage and headed back out, beginning to follow the path she had taken hundreds of times to travel between FBI headquarters and Quantico.

*************

ISU offices  
Quantico

The answer he received put Patterson in a fury. His face reddened as his eyes fixed on the man bound to the chair in front of him.

Mulder kept his own eyes locked with Patterson's as the older man's anger grew. He had no idea what Patterson would do next, but he had a strong hunch it wasn't going to be pleasant.

Finally, Patterson heaved back an arm and slapped Mulder full-force across the mouth. Mulder's head snapped back with the impact, and bright lights flashed behind closed lids as the swivel chair rolled backwards, away from the desk.

It wasn't clear if it was the strength of the blow or the weight of the man lunging at him, but either way Mulder next found himself on the floor, still attached to the chair. Dizzying pain resulted from having fallen on his cuffed hands and having the back of his head rap with an echoing crack on the hard floor. Patterson was atop him, straddling his chest, repeatedly striking fists to his face, left and right, cursing nearly unintelligible threats.

"I'll kill you, you goddamned bastard, I'll fuck you sore and then I'll kill you!" was the last Mulder heard before slipping into darkness.

                      *************

I-95

Delaney's car had been spotted outside the ISU offices, parked behind the building. All the lots were empty, but apparently -- according to one ISU detective Skinner talked to on Scully's cell phone, who asked to keep his identity confidential -- Delaney had a reputation for having romantic rendezvous with young ladies in his offices on off-hours. Even if anyone had noticed the car there by itself, and no one had, they wouldn't have seen it as unusual.

A joint S.W.A.T. and hostage negotiations team had been gathered outside the ISU offices, careful to keep themselves out of view of any of the offices' windows. Skinner had always had faith in their abilities, but this time he prayed with special fervor that nothing would go wrong.

"I don't want anyone to make a move until I get there," Skinner ordered into the phone. "We have an E.T.A. of 15 minutes. Just sit tight until then, but get your people ready. An agent's life is at stake, and I'll kick some butt out there if anyone screws this up." 

                      *************

ISU Offices

Mulder was lying on his stomach on a beach, getting a splitting headache from the sun, but was unable to get up to go home, which he desperately wanted. Shit, did he want to go home, but why couldn't he get up? Then he realized it was because he was buried in sand. Sand weighed down on him heavily, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't raise himself an inch. His arms were straight out from his shoulders, and that goddamn sand weighed a ton. He couldn't move his arms in to push himself up.

Some kid must have done it while he was asleep, he reasoned. Hey, kid, where are you? The kid, whom he still couldn't see because his eyes just wouldn't open, started jumping on his back. He jumped and jumped; then a whole bunch of his friends joined him in their prank, jumping like little monsters all over his body. Shit, guys, cut it out and dig me out. What did I ever do to you? I don't even know you. Just dig me out and help me up and show me the way to the nearest hospital. I just want to get off this goddamn lousy beach and into bed and sleep for a very long time. Hook me up with some really good painkillers and keep me under for a week. Just take me anywhere but here.

When Mulder came around again, he was no longer on the floor. It took him a few moments to remember where he was at all, in fact. With great effort, he managed to get his head to pick up off the hard surface; with a little more work, he pulled up the lids of his eyes. It wasn't easy; they were almost swollen shut. 

He peeked out at his surroundings, needles pricking the back of his neck and head throbbing even harder as he slowly turned it about half an inch one way. Then he remembered, vaguely, where he was and what had been happening before the little Hitler Youth club had started using his back for a trampoline. A few moments later realization of his situation hit him harder, and he thought it would be a good idea to go back to the beach.

                      *************

Outside

Surveillance equipment had been set up to see and hear what was going on inside the office where Patterson held Mulder. For the last 20 minutes, while the S.W.A.T. team was deployed into the building, planning to take Patterson by surprise and avoid having to go into hostage negotiations mode, Skinner, Scully, and others leading the operations had been able to watch on a monitor and listen through headphones to what was happening inside.

From the time they had set up the video feed, they had no proof Mulder was alive. In fact, it looked like Patterson had carried out every fantasy he had about Mulder before they had arrived on the scene.

They had watched as a lifeless Mulder lay taped down to an office desk. They had watched Patterson rape him, getting no response from the body he was violating. They had watched the rapist, once a respected member of their inner circle, stop from exhaustion and finally go sit down to talk to his victim. The victim was not talking back.

Skinner had seen this all, and he could not show the horror and guilt he felt inside. The story was that, earlier that morning, Skinner had stopped by Mulder's apartment to check on the progress of his current case. The story was that the door was unlocked, he had gone inside, and someone had clubbed Skinner over the head. The story was that Skinner would hate to lose a fine agent like Fox Mulder.

                      *************

Inside

The mean man wouldn't let him go back under the warm sand. The mean man kept poking at him, talking at him, making his tender ears hurt his head more. The mean man was sitting in front of him, stroking his hair. The mean man was crying.

"I'm sorry, Son. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I love you, Fox."

The voice was so familiar. He knew who it was. "Dad?" he asked, lifting his head up and trying to look at the man who had hurt him.

His dad patted his hair some more. It felt good. Wiped the tear from his cheek. That felt good, too. "It's okay. Fox. You'll be okay. You just...you should have listened to me. You should have done what I asked you to do. Then I wouldn't have had to do it."

Fox kept his head down. He was so sleepy. He was glad Dad wasn't mad at him any more, but he was so tired. "I'm sorry, Dad," he mumbled weakly through swollen lips. "I'll listen from now on." He had to sleep now; it must be way past his bedtime. <I love my dad> he thought as he let the darkness return.

                      *************

Still inside

Patterson sat, forlorn at the failure of his plan. He never wanted to hurt him. Sure, sometimes he'd say he did, but he never really meant it. He just wanted to get what was his due. Some show of respect.

He'd had feelings for Mulder since the first day he had worked with him; he'd always wanted him. For a while, he had thought there was something mutual brewing. Mulder had liked him, had respected him, had appreciated all he'd done for him. And then he had grown up in a way, Patterson guessed, and had gotten a mind of his own.

Patterson looked at Mulder's unresponsive form and sighed. This wasn't how he'd thought it would turn out. To be honest, he wasn't sure how he'd expected it would turn out...he supposed he hadn't thought to plan it through to the end. But he knew this wasn't how he'd wanted it to end.

He lifted Mike Delaney's gun, pressed the nuzzle to the soft flesh under the chin, said a short prayer to a God he thought had abandoned him, and pulled the trigger.

                      *************

Crystal City, VA  
Friday, Jan. 30  
6:28 p.m.

Skinner opened the door to his apartment and looked around at the mess. He put his briefcase down and went to look for the source of the mess. From across the room, he saw it under a wool blanket, sleeping on the couch.

Walking gingerly and quickly, he snuck up to the couch and pulled the blanket off it like a magician revealing a trick. But like in the trick, nothing was there. The blanket had been strewn haphazardly on the couch, just another contribution to the mess of newspapers, magazines, books, and dirty plates. Evidence of a capricious mind and a good appetite.

Feeling like a stalker, Walter tread carefully up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom. This place was worse than downstairs. Clothes littered the floor, and more magazines and books in various spots belied that Mulder had been more bored than usual today. The surpriser was surprised by the surprisee when the bathroom door opened and Mulder stepped out, naked except for the towel he was using to dry himself off with.

"Good God, am I glad to see you," Mulder said when he saw Walter, a faint smile on his lips. "I've been bored out of my skull. I can't wait to get back to work."

"I can *see* you were bored," Walter replied, indicating the reading material all around the room. He crossed the carpet for a kiss.

Breaking away from Mulder's lips, he reached a hand out and ruffled Mulder's damp hair. "At least *something* around here is clean," he said teasingly. "You know, Fox, if you ever get *really* bored, you know where the vacuum is. And the dishwasher. Or should I give you a guided tour of all the cleaning supplies?"

Mulder broke into his Oscar Madison/"The Odd Couple" slob act, sticking his gut out and rubbing it, adjusting an imaginary cap on his head. "Come on, Felix, give me a break. I was watchin' the game, then the guys came over for some poker." He grinned, confessing what he had really spent most of the day doing, indicating the computer in the corner of the room. "I got busy with some new sites I found on the 'net." The monitor surface moved with a screen saver, inspired by the movie "M.I.B.", showing a man rip his own face off to reveal the head of a monstrous alien. Installed, of course, a week ago, when Mulder first came to stay at Skinner's apartment.

Walter wondered just what kinds of websites the man's curious mind had occupied itself with while he was away.

Since Mulder had returned from the hospital, Web surfing had become a new favorite sport for him. Especially since he was still not recovered enough to go for his daily runs or play racquetball with Skinner. By the time Mulder was ready to go back to work, and to move back to his own apartment to leave every dirty plate and piece of clothing he owned on his own floor, Skinner would expect Mulder to have his own website set up -- devoted to the Roswell coverup, or some such topic, of course. Well, at least it kept his mind off things, Skinner thought.

Although maybe that wasn't such a good thing. Mulder didn't want to talk about what had happened to him thirteen days ago. All he would say was that he didn't remember much of anything. 

Whether or not that was true, Skinner thought it was time they stopped avoiding the subject. Whether or not Mulder remembered anything, Skinner remembered it all. Every last horrible minute. Every second of worrying, of watching Mulder's assault by Patterson, of thinking Mulder was probably dead while it was being done to him. Skinner needed to be able to open up to Mulder again.

He looked over at Mulder, standing close to him, towel wrapped around his waist now. Silently, Skinner put his arm around Mulder's shoulder and brought him in for an embrace. Mulder returned it. They both said nothing for several minutes as they simply held each other tightly, heads reclined on each other's shoulder, feeling each other's warmth.

Finally, Skinner broke the silence, although they didn't break the embrace. "Fox, I have to tell you. I have to talk about it." He felt Mulder tense and beginning to pull away. Skinner gently kept him close and continued, voice shaking from his efforts to contain his emotions. Mulder eased back into his arms. They still did not look at each other, only wanting to keep the other close and safe.

"I remember, Fox. We don't have to talk about it now, but I want you to know that I remember it all. I thought you were dead, that he'd killed you, and that it was my fault."

Mulder pulled away once more, this time to look up at Walter. He was angry. "It *wasn't* your fault, Walt. There's been enough misplaced blame in my life. I'm not going to have you feeling responsible, too."

Skinner nodded, and kissed Mulder on the lips. When they parted, Skinner made one more broach of the subject.

"When you're ready to, promise me you'll talk to me about it. And to Scully, and to anyone else who can help you. We've been through a lot, and we'll get through it together."

"I promise, as long as you promise, too." Mulder looked like he was not going to let Skinner avoid answering. Not that he planned to; Skinner was just relieved that they finally had things out in the open, and that Mulder took it as seriously as he did.

"I promise," he answered.

They mutually and silently decided to leave it at that, for now.

Mulder grinned, cocking his head over to the bed, which had never been made up from that morning. "Now, how about we skip dinner and go to bed early?" He waggled his eyebrows a bit, trying for his "lecherous Groucho Marx" look. He still didn't have it down, managing more of a MacCauley Culkin impression.

Skinner laughed, sure now for the first time in nearly two weeks that things would be okay again. "Mulder, it's Friday night. We don't have to go to bed early. How about we get you in that butler outfit, and you can make us dinner and do the dishes?" He waggled his eyebrows back, and did Groucho's voice, cigar chew and ash flick -- surprisingly well. "Then we can see how well you can handle a feather duster."

They headed downstairs and started to rebuild what they had before. Maybe, Skinner thought, it would be even stronger. 

                      *************

Conclusion of Skinner's final report:

"I continue to hear from various Bureau personnel about how much more tragic the outcome of this incident could have been. However, I hope we do not forget the losses we have suffered, especially the loss of Michael Delaney, a top-notch ISU leader who will be difficult to replace. It is also vital to remember the service William Patterson gave to our ranks, before whatever conditions that caused his mental illness took hold of his sanity. His degeneration and ultimate suicide is just as much of a tragedy.

"Hopefully, we can find the time and resources to lick our wounds and find healing in what we have, as well as to strive to gain better understanding from Patterson's fall from within our own respected leadership. To realize the impropriety of his obsession, present even while he had worked shoulder-to-shoulder with out agency, and to recognize it in ourselves before it brings such ruin again.

"Our goal should be to prevent anything like this from possibly happening again. I would hate to lose an investigator as fine as Agent Mulder."

*************

End

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